


just a little bit of your heart, is all i'm asking for

by backwards_silver



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Album: Fine Line (Harry Styles), Album: Harry Styles (Harry Styles)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27950255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwards_silver/pseuds/backwards_silver
Summary: Harry and Louis' relationship, post-hiatus, a story inspired and based off lyrics from songs off of Harry's two albums.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Meet Me in the Hallway

**Author's Note:**

> "I think most songs are written for one listener. It's a really amazing way of being able to say something to someone; that maybe they'll never know it's about them...maybe there's one thing in there that only they will know is about them. It's so much easier to say something in a song than to say it to someone." -Harry Styles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the split of the band, the day Louis leaves, the day everyone goes home alone, unsure of when they'll unite again.

_Just let me know, I'll be at the door, Hoping you'll come around_  
_Just let me know, I'll be on the floor, Maybe we'll work it out_  
_I gotta get better, gotta get better, And maybe we'll work it out_

Harry watched the window as the sky changed from the middling, on the fence, edge of night into black. Orange fading into deep red, until it faded to nothing. Beauty into a vague nothingness. He felt calm, though, surprisingly. He shifted back against the wall, arms resting over his bent knees to his chest, head leant against the window. 

He wanted to revel in this moment, in the memories it held. The best moments of his life, winding away into one last night. One last piece of wholeness. He thought he'd felt it leave in the car with Louis, when he left for the final time that day to fly home. _His_ home. Which was no longer with Harry. It no longer _was_ Harry. And there had been a time, for sure, when he'd been Louis' home, he was sure of it. So sure they'd gotten matching ink on their bodies to prove it. 

_Home is wherever you are._

It's what they used to tell each other in the moonlit nights they'd stolen away without all the pressure. Times to just be free from the real world, from their real lives. 

Wasn't true anymore.

He was at home. Or what should've been home. But he was sure he left part of himself in that jacket he and Louis had always shared, the one Louis took with him when he left for the last time, off on a hiatus no one could ever truly define an ending point for. 

It wasn't like they hadn't been apart before that. In fact, they'd lost touch so long ago it felt normal by the time they parted ways. It was little things, here and there, touches, glances, smiles turned to tight frowns, something he could never really put his finger on. 

_I walked the streets all day, Running with the thieves_  
_'Cause you left me in the hallway, Give me some more_  
_Just take the pain away_

He stood, eventually, on shaky legs that felt like overcooked spaghetti, in search of a blanket that felt like comfort, like warmth, like some sort of replacement for whatever Louis took when he left, the last of the meager amount of it left. 

Wrapped in a thin fleece blanket, grey and soft like Louis, Harry buried himself in the couch cushions, tv rambling some shit he wasn't listening to, phone lighting up with silenced messages and calls he wasn't answering. It was nearly midnight, everything else could wait. 

He felt numb, something about the way he was registering everything didn't make sense. He expected to feel raw, more like "heart carved out of chest with a butcher knife". Instead he got, blank slate, earl grey tea, the feeling after a bleary warm rain, when the world just feels off. 

He felt all wrong, but not wrong enough to feel closure. Not broken enough to be put back together. Just wrong.

_We don't talk about it...It's something we don't do_  
_'Cause once you go without it..._  
_Nothing else will do_

He hadn't said goodbye to Louis, not really. Not in the way you do when you've spent the better part of your growing up with someone and become so attached to them that you start to feel like your entire life is woven, intertwined with theirs. Not in the way that you do when you've been lovers for what feels like forever but then strangers for a much shorter, but far more memorable amount of time. 

Strangers, it's what they were to each other...

He'd said goodbye like an acquaintance. Someone who knows they might see you again someday, but isn't counting on it. Someone who's certain that their role in your life is so small and meaningless that they best not push it with floofy words and grand declarations. Just shy of being endearing, resting on the line of "I care about you...but I won't say it to your face."

And there was nothing more to say. 

So he'd let Louis walk out that door and didn't stop him. He wasn't in a place to, anyway. The rest of the boy invited him out for drinks, "one last time, for memory's sake". He'd agreed, but Louis was already leaving, and it was like one of those moments you watch in hindsight while it's happening. Like you could stop it but you're not sure how, or if you should. And you wonder what could've been, but in the moment, you're pretty sure it's supposed to bee this way

That's how it was supposed to be.

He didn't question it. Neither did Louis. He didn't turn around, neither did Louis. 

He wondered if Lou felt the same, figured there must've been _something_ in his mind that reminded him of the place Harry once held in his life...but there was no evidence of it. He walked out that door and out of their lives, the first to leave, but not the last.

Normally Harry would've stayed, long into the night after most of the party had gone home, chilling, talking with his friends, soaking in the change of energy that comes at three a.m. when none but the artists are awake, the ones that thrive on the night air and endless possibility. 

Not this time. He left early, first to go after three rounds, somehow barely buzzed yet drunk on an entirely different feeling. 

Jealousy.

Jealousy at Louis for having someone to come home to. Even if it wasn't _real_. Or maybe it was, Harry was never sure these days. Maybe Louis was truly fulfilled, maybe Eleanor was all he wanted now.

Maybe things really had changed _that much_ and Harry just hadn't noticed. Hadn't been privy to those developing feelings in him. Maybe he really didn't know Louis that well anymore, after all.

So...jealous he was. 

He didn't feel fulfilled, sure as hell didn't feel happy, sitting in front of a window at eleven at night, wondering what someone else was doing right then. He was used to taking control of his life, not waiting for it to control him.

But this was something he couldn't control, try as he might. And he wouldn't have wanted to, anyway. He wanted to be wanted by the person _he_ wanted. And if he wasn't wanted, he wouldn't push. He'd take his place outside of Louis' life if that's what he wanted.

After all, that's what any good friend would do.

Or acquaintance. 

The house felt different that night. Less like a comfort, more like it was suffocating Harry. The air felt too still, the place too quiet, the couch too soft, blankets too warm. Nothing could be just right.

Nothing would be, again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never want to shove a ship in anyone's face so I've been a silent Larry. But now, I think there's a mountain of evidence for it that's more than just coincidences.
> 
> I adore Harry's music for the things it makes me feel and the rawness of his writing, and I wanted to put into words some of what those songs make me think of, things I can imagine them being based on. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! PLEASE. I adore feedback of any kind, since this is my first Larry fic! :)


	2. Sign of the Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The in-between time of writing and recording. Harry and Louis in separate countries, with separate lives, playing that dangerous game where everything is fine and life just keeps on, with or without you.

_You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky_  
_You look pretty good down here, But you ain't really good_

Harry typed and retyped the message three times before deleting it completely, hand hovering over the 'call' button. He wanted to call, more than he wanted to admit even to himself. But he was doing fine, wasn't he? He'd been recording and traveling and writing, all of the things he loved most, all of the goals he had since leaving the band. 

But it was _fucking_ lonely. 

He'd dated, here and there, dinners and drinks with a few people, getting to the crux of the night before parting ways, losing his nerve before ever getting far enough to truly call it a 'date'. In the backseat of an SUV, on his way back to his hotel, he debated calling Louis. Just for a chat. Like friends. That's what friends did, wasn't it? He could catch up, casual and brief, after all. He could make small talk, it's what he was trained for. 

But it didn't feel right with Louis. 

He pictured what Louis was doing at that moment, probably somewhere in London, with Eleanor, or maybe with his family, living some alternate life that was picture-perfect, content. 

Harry wondered if he felt alone, too. This was supposed to be a break, yet it felt like an ending of something forever. Harry hadn't seen anyone from the band in eight months, hadn't seen Louis in ten.

He'd been busy, the only way to keep his mind off of the aching loss that stuck in his mind. He'd traveled to three countries in eight months, talked to hundreds of people, was _happy_ , from the outside. But there were some days where it truly fucked him up inside. He cracked at night the most. He hadn't cried, not since the last time he'd seen him. But he stared at the ceiling, hearing Louis' voice in his head, imaging that it was three years ago and they were fully in the throes of new love, of adoration and grand declarations of commitments and promises. 

Back when they were free, free to say and to touch and to laugh and smile at each other like they wanted to. Before all the pressure, all the stakes became too much, so much so that it was like every moment they stole was risking their entire careers, futures and reputations for a simple smile and a laugh. 

Back when it was no question of how they felt for each other.

He'd been at a birthday party earlier that day, another high-profile bash filled with all the wildness he'd become accustomed to, loud and obnoxious and made sense only to people that had been in the circle as long as the famous faces in the room had. Liam and Niall had been there too, visiting old friends, and Harry could only thank the heavens that his and Louis' friend circle didn't run so close that Louis had shown up in LA, too. Though he was sure Louis knew about the birthday, probably was invited too, but he was in London, of course.

One of his mates tried to set him up that night, clearly not aware of what Harry's personal life had been prior to the knowledge that 'he's single'. 

_We never learn, we've been here before, Why are we always stuck and running from_  
_Your bullets, the bullets?_

"You just need to pick up a wild one and take your mind off of things!" Jeri had waved a tequila glass in his face, smirking and winking, overly dramatizing every word and movement, partly because he was tipsy and partly because he clearly didn't understand that a one-night-stand wasn't going to help at all. 

Jeri didn't even really know what was up with Harry, just that he seemed quiet, and the best way he knew to cheer him up was the advice he gave to everyone, 'get laid, smoke a blunt, and have a good time'.

Harry hummed a non-committal response and clinked his glass in cheers following Jeri's lead, but he didn't look for a date that night. His eyes scanned the room and all he could think about was the fact that Liam was in LA, Niall was in LA, and Louis was in London, apparently so engrossed with Eleanor and his life there that he couldn't even take a weekend trip to see all his mates.

Strangers, they were.

Harry wondered if there was some other reason behind him not showing, but he didn't press it, didn't mention him to Liam or Niall, and they didn't ask. Everyone smiled and laughed and had a good time, reminiscing, catching up on busy schedules, making things sound better than they were, the way you do with people you haven't seen in a while. Harry wanted to call bullshit on their excuse that Louis was on 'baby duty' and that's why they hadn't heard from him in a while. 

Of course, that was it. Harry didn't reply, just nodded and they moved on to another topic. Who cared where Louis was? This was supposed to be a fun night out with friends and colleagues, not a pity party, not another moment to be ruined thinking about the past. 

But he left early, something he never used to do yet now felt like it was all he could do to stay a socially acceptable amount of time before slipping out, somehow both suffocated and yet missing the company. 

He missed the hidden moments, the ones he snuck with Louis when they were in giant groups, when everything was too loud and chaotic, and Louis was part of that chaos, yet when his eyes met Harry's and he saw the drained look on his face, he found an excuse to pull away, to pause being the life of the party for a moment to connect, really connect, with Harry. Just a smile or a few words, a small touch when no one was watching.

They both did it for each other. Neither was shy about being around lots of people, Harry was better with strangers than Louis was, though. Louis could light up a whole room if they were people he knew, laugh and joke with them like they were lifelong friends, make small talk and keep a conversation going. But Harry could captivate the crowd, strangers or not, finding a way to relate to everyone, to make them feel understood, seen. It was something he was brilliant at doing for everyone else, but didn't have many people to do it for him.

In times like tonight, when Harry was surrounded by faces he knew, that were smiling at him and he was smiling back, having a hundred little conversations here and there, that he craved having that person that just _knew him_ , inside and out. 

_Remember, everything will be alright, We can meet again somewhere_  
_Somewhere far away from here_

He was nearly home, slightly regretting the fact that he hadn't taken Jeri up on his stupid advice to find someone interesting and spend the night with them to take his mind off of everything else. It was age-old advice, and sometimes it worked, even. But he always felt empty the next day, the next week, the next month. He wasn't ready to throw himself into a full-blown committed relationship, but he hated the feeling of one-night stands and the way they made him feel about himself. 

He was almost jealous of Louis for having a person he could just gravitate to, good or bad, in or out. true or fake. Harry was never quite sure what to term their relationship as, but at least Louis could go home to Eleanor, call her on a bad day, not worry about the consequences of being seen with her if he was lonely, or whether it was desperate or needy to write her when he missed her. 

If he missed her. Which was hard to do when he was right there with her.

Harry made it inside, un-harassed and undetected, up to his room without any drama. He changed into a pair of shorts, ones Louis used to tease him about because they made his butt look bigger, a little tighter than they should've been. These days they were loose, he wasn't really eating as much as he used to, hadn't been since the breakup of the band.

Eating wasn't on his mind too often, though drinking was becoming a bad habit. Taking care of his mental and physical health was one of those things that kind of went by the wayside when everything changed. It was like all the little things were piling up like a landslide and he wasn't sure how to hit reset. Or if he wanted to. If it would mean scratching away all of the things in the past, making a clean slate that never involved Louis at all. 

_We don't talk enough, We should open up, before it's all too much_  
_Will we ever learn?_  
_We've been here before, It's just what we know_

He ended his night alternating between reading a book and thinking about pressing that call button again, back and forth until he finally fell asleep, and woke up the next morning to a new day, hurdle passed, back into a busy life that left him no time to care about the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters might not always be super long, as they're basically extracting little points of reference from Harry's lyrics and building something around them. But I hope you all enjoy them, and if you love the lyrics of Harry's albums as much as I do, what's your favorite song from him? And are there any that automatically make you think of Larry?
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING!! :)))


	3. Two Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE let me know your feedback! This is my first Larry fic ever, and it started merely out of an appreciation of Harry's albums and the stories they tell. Basically this is what his lyrics make me think of when I hear them. If you're a hardcore Larrie or a dark Larrie (which has been me for a while), feel free to hit me up! It's a wild time for Larries so I'm always up for discussions :)))))) *hugs*

_Same lips red, same eyes blue, s_ _ame white shirt, couple more tattoos_

  
_But it's not you and it's not me..._

  
_Tastes so sweet, looks so real._ _Sounds like something that I used to feel_

  
_But I can't touch what I see..._

* * *

_Louis' POV:_

Harry bolted off the stage a few seconds early, immediately after their customary bows and waves, to the bewildered faces of his bandmates. He was normally last off the stage at their shows but today he was first, running, unbalanced but hurriedly backstage with the rest of them following behind.

"What's up with him?" Liam asked over the screaming as they disappeared behind the curtains.

"He's sick," Niall explained, and Louis knew he was right, but he didn't reply, brushing past them to figure out where Harry went.

Harry had been off the whole night, and Louis knew he wasn't feeling too well, but he didn't know he was _th_ _at_ sick. It was ridiculous, really, how little he seemed to know about Harry these days. Niall knew more about how he was on any given day than Louis did, for fuck's sake.

Louis rushed through the lounge to the first bathroom only to hear the telltale sounds of Harry puking his guts out, violently, before Louis got to the door.

Harry was hunched over the toilet, both hands gripping it like his life depended on it, shaky and heaving labored breaths, hair a mess on his face, too long to be anything but a nuisance in situations like this, but Harry hadn't even noticed.

Louis stepped behind him, swearing under his breath at how wrecked Harry looked. He quickly brushed Harry's hair up into a handful off of his face before he launched into another awful gag, this time throwing up only fluids, apparently already gotten rid of everything he'd eaten lately.

Louis watched as Harry held himself steady for a few more seconds, waiting for the waves to pass, hands clenched on the sides of the toilet seat, arms shaking from holding himself up, entire body clenched tight and unsteady.

He hated seeing him like this, in pain and obviously uncomfortable, but Louis wasn't quite sure what his place was here, so he forced himself to just step in, do what was natural.

Harry groaned in a way that sounded pained, but Louis figured it the only acknowledgement he'd be getting for now.

"You alright, Hazza?" He asked quietly, trying not to sound too worried, even though the man looked like complete shit and still hadn't moved from his death grip on the toilet.

He got no answer, not even a dry quip Harry would've given if he'd been somewhat present. That was their thing these days, dry jabs or silence, but he was pretty sure harry wasn't even quite coherent right now, at least not enough to be counting all the arguments they'd been having lately.

Niall and Liam appeared by the doorway, quietly, checking on Harry and giving Louis a concerned glance.

"He okay?" Liam mouthed, and Louis nodded, the assurance they needed to nod and give them space.

Louis figured if anyone else had gotten to Harry first, he would have likely preferred that, but right now he didn't quite care. He was as capable of taking care of Harry as anyone else, plus he had experience; something that brought up painful thoughts that he wasn't interested in thinking about.

Louis hooked a hand under Harry's shoulder, coaxing him into standing, albeit on shaky legs like a newborn deer.

"Come on then, you'll want to brush your teeth," He steered Harry to the sink a few feet away, every step painfully slow and shaky.

Harry turned on the water and braced himself on the sink to take breath before lightly splashing water on his face, clearly interested in moving as little as possible.

Louis handed him a toothbrush and some toothpaste from the cupboard in the washroom, a spare that could be thrown away after being used for such a moment. With shaky hands, Harry tried unscrewing the toothpaste, looking every bit like he was going to pass out at any second, quite nearly a shade of green.

Louis gently took the brush and paste back and prepped it for him, with Harry barely seeming to notice, eye glazed and unfocused, following Louis' lead and taking the brush without ever looking at him. If Louis didn't know any better, he would say Harry didn't even know he was there.

Teeth-brushing complete, Louis fetched a glass of water from the kitchen while Harry used the bathroom. When he came back, Harry was washing his hands, half-asleep on his feet.

"Come on, you, time to get some rest, yeah?" He put a hand out to guide Harry towards the little room used for napping down the hallway, Harry trailing a hand on every hard surface as he passed, his gait unsure.

When they reached the bed, Harry clumsily tried to pull the covers down, but only succeeded in tripping on his own feet, and Louis cursed those stupid heeled boots he always wore.

Harry was clumsy by nature and wearing heels hardly helped the problem, but of course, he insisted on style. Louis pulled the covers down, and nearly lifted Harry into the bed, too, but he was already burying himself in the covers as Louis quickly yanked his boots off before Harry curled into a shivering ball.

"Shit, Harry, what'd you do to get so sick, mate?" He whispered, somehow still in awe at all the ways Harry got himself into misfortune all the time.

Falling constantly, getting pummeled with various items while on stage, being the only one to catch sicknesses when they came around, it was like he was a magnet for trouble.

Harry groaned a non-response into the blankets that Louis was pretty sure wasn't directed at him and Louis rolled his eyes, sighing. Harry was probably nearly asleep by now. He watched for a few seconds, contemplating getting another blanket for him.

In the end, he did, grabbing the spare off the couch. Liam and Niall were eating at the island, a balanced dinner of cereal, and they looked up when he took the blanket, watching him as he went back to the room.

They knew what had gone down between Harry and Louis, and Louis figured they were probably curious to see what would happen between them. Louis had argued with Harry several times in the earlier months, the knock-out, drag down fights that didn't have any real closure because there was no compromise to be found.

The fights had ended on a bitter note, a standstill that ended up causing a silent tension between the two, they were barely talking these days, the past month, instead of arguing, they'd basically just frozen each other out. Besides a few cordial greetings and the occasional group discussions, they mostly avoided each other.

Louis knew a lot of the tension was resting on him, on his part, he'd been fronting with Eleanor for so long that it had begun to put a strain between him and Harry. Then he broke up with her and rumors started about him fathering a baby with a woman he'd had a one night stand with, truths being mixed with lies and turning into sensational news that everyone wanted to blast all over the internet, and everywhere for Harry to see before Louis could explain a single thing.

He'd handled it well at first, better than Louis had expected. All four of them had been hanging out, a few hours before a show two months earlier, Harry relaxed on the couch, back against the armrest, feet propped up against his chest on the couch, Louis beside him, leaving a cautious amount of space as they'd been doing lately, both of them unsure where they stood with each other.

"Baby Tomlinson? What's this I'm seeing, Louis?" Liam spoke all of the sudden, interrupting the silence they'd all been in, scrolling their respective phones. All three heads snapped up, looking at Louis. He could feel Harry's eyes on him, finger frozen hovering over his screen, eyes fixed on Louis.

"It's just a bunch of tabloid nonsense, I dunno where they come up with this horseshit," He muttered, waving his hand dismissively, hoping to be done with the subject for the time being.

This was not how he'd expected this conversation to go down, if it ever had to go down in the first place. He needed to talk to Harry about it in private, and then possibly be ready to discuss it with the rest of the boys. Possibly.

"Is it? Are you....Holy shit!" Niall sat up lighting fast, scrolling swiftly on his phone, staring wide eyed at an article about the baby rumors, "This sounds awful real." He was thoroughly engrossed and Louis resisted the urge to reach over and slap the phone out of his hand.

"Doesn't it?" Liam quipped, eyeing Louis for his reaction. Liam's expression was dubious, pointedly showing Louis he didn't believe him.

Harry had been silent through the whole exchange so far, perfectly still where he was sitting, watching Niall and Louis trade their phones back and forth to read the articles.

"Oh for fuck's sake, you idiots, why the hell would you believe that rubbish?" Louis snapped, sitting up straight, annoyed, pissed at them for actually giving credibility to something they would've normally considered trash.

"Is it true?" Harry asked finally, from beside Louis. He glanced at him, searching his face for a reaction, not seeing anything telling.

He used to be able to read Harry like a book, but now he felt so out of touch with him, with all of them, really, but especially with Harry. Harry's face was blank, perfectly neutral, waiting for an answer.

"Harry..." He sighed, frustrated, this was not how any of this was supposed to happen.

The baby news was supposed to stay under the radar until he and Briana could work something out, something that left him completely out of the situation and kept their private life private, something that Harry didn't find out through shit companies writing dramatized tabloid articles about it; always somehow knowing his news before even he knew it.

"Louis, is it true?" Harry asked again, still not moving nor changing his expression, this time more insistent.

All of the boys were waiting for an answer now, the tension palpable among the three of them. Louis was fuming at the stupid news sites, at Briana, at himself. This was not how anything at all was supposed to play out.

"I mean....It's true that I got a girl pregnant, yes." He finally admitted, biting out the hard truth before anything else could hold him back. It was like taking off a band-aid, better to get it done than to wait. He was never good at holding his tongue, anyway.

"Seriously?" Liam sounded surprised and Louis hated it.

Niall didn't say anything, looking between the three of them like he was trying to figure out what the fuck was going on, and Harry was absently playing with a bracelet on his wrist, staring intently at it.

"Now what? Now everyone acts like I don't fucking exist? What? What answer did you expect? Would you rather I lie about it?" He asked, to no one in particular, to the general audience.

He felt suffocated. He stood up abruptly, only wishing he could know what Harry was thinking, simultaneously glad he didn't.

Harry didn't say a word and no one moved to stop him, so he stormed out, onto the balcony to find fresh air and try to clear his mind of the utter fuck up of his life at the moment. He wished he knew how he'd come this far to this moment, so far from where he thought he wanted to be.

He'd always wanted kids, of course. But never like this, never from a drunken one-night-stand that sounded awfully trashy when published online, with a girl he couldn't have cared less for.

He'd wanted children on his own timeline, in the future, when he was finally together with the person he loved and finally able to be free to be a family, with nothing holding him back.

This was wrong in so many ways...

In the present, Louis was chilling on the couch, absently scrolling through Instagram on his phone without even noticing a single thing, lost in his own head. Harry was still sleeping his sickness off in the bedroom, and Louis couldn't stop thinking about him.

How had they let everything go so horribly wrong? A long time ago they’d made a promise to each other to never let fame tear them apart, that they wouldn’t end up as enemies that shared a stage and a bus every day like some of the people they knew about.

And then feelings had gotten involved, they’d fallen in love somewhere along the way, without stopping first to think about the consequences, still naïve enough to think that their love could be strong enough to hold them together against the outside forces. They were wrong.

Louis finally pushed himself off the couch and wandered to the room Harry was sleeping in. He pushed the door open slowly, making sure Harry was still asleep before coming closer.

Harry was bundled in the blankets, hair splayed across his face and sticking to his neck, his face tucked into the pillow with the sternest frown Louis had ever seen him wear in sleep. He was out cold, fist tight around the grey fabric of the blanket, tucking it close to his chest.

Louis sighed, annoyed with the fact that he couldn’t just lay down right here and stay with him, something that used to be a given, with no thought required. Now he had an internal war every time he even so much as glanced at Harry, overthought every interaction they had, found himself awkward and nervous around him when he never used to be.

Harry used to be the person he was most comfortable with, the person he drifted towards in most situations, the one he loved joking with and teasing him on stage.

Now he felt lost sometimes, turning around expecting to see Harry smiling at him, instead finding him halfway across the stage, oblivious to Louis, losing himself in performing and the music, catching eyes with Louis only to break away swiftly.

Instead of staying, Louis gently pulled the covers over Harry to drape him completely, and gathered his messy hair at the back of his head and used the wristband he kept on his arm to pull it into a loose half-bun like he’d seen Harry do a million times.

It was amazing, the mass of little things Louis had taken to doing for Harry in lieu of interacting like they used to. Now, he always got two water bottles when they performed, one for him and one for Harry, he cleared the way of the stage for him, knowing Harry had a bad habit of getting himself hurt somehow and tripping over literally anything.

He also started keeping a hair tie on his wrist for moments when Harry didn’t have one and his hair was getting annoying. They didn’t speak much about those moments. Harry would give him a smile every now and then when he noticed, or he’d thank him, but it was nothing like the lit-up, sunshine smiles he used to give. Louis missed those days.

He almost felt like Harry was ignoring him, though he wouldn’t have blamed him. Louis hadn’t done much to give Harry reason to believe he still cared about him as much as he had five years ago. But he did. He just couldn’t say it. So he said it in actions, or tried to anyway.

_The fridge light washes this room white  
  
_ _Moon dances over your good side  
_  
 _And this was all we used to need..._

* * *

_Harry's POV:_

Harry woke up to a pounding headache, feeling like his limbs were overcooked spaghetti and his brain was full of fuzz. He tried unsuccessfully to push himself up to sitting, but only managed to roll over with a frustrated grumble.

His forehead was wet and his clothes sweaty and clammy, shirt sticking to his back. He noticed his hair wasn’t all over his face like it normally was when he woke up, getting stuck in his mouth and turning into a tangled mess.

Sometime between his last memory and now, he’d put his hair into a bun and taken his shoes off.

He tried to recall the last thing he was doing, and all he remembered was nearly passing out while vomiting over the toilet, and Louis having to babysit him until he fell asleep.

He was pissed, pissed that it was Louis, that Louis was probably the one who put his hair up while he was asleep and took his shoes off like a doting mother. He hated the way it still made him feel melted inside, like no matter what he did, he couldn’t fall out of love with Louis.

No matter how much he pulled away, he’d still be so affected by even the smallest of things that Louis did. He was pretty sure Louis thought he didn’t notice the small things like the water bottles, the stage clearing, the hair tie that magically appeared from Louis’ wrist whenever Harry needed one. But he did notice.

He wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about it. Louis was ‘dating’ Eleanor, and then he was hooking up with some other girl, off and on with endless beards to the point where Harry wasn’t entirely sure if they were all just beards, anymore.

Now, he’d gotten someone pregnant, a line Harry never thought they’d cross. He had slept with other people a few times since their unofficial breakup, and he was sure Louis had, as well, but to get someone pregnant was a whole new level of breaking the trust, the bond they’d shared, relationship or not.

They hadn’t ever actually said, “Let’s breakup.” But it’d been evident in the constant fights they had over the differing opinions they had on coming out and standing up to their management. Harry was willing to put his career on the line to be free, that much was clear.

But Louis just couldn’t cross that line.

As he’d told Harry a million times, “People tolerate it when you do it, they love it. But it’s not the same for me, people expect me to act a certain way.”

And Harry had disagreed, again and again, telling him they could make it, they could come out together and survive. Or, they could compromise and not even come out, just get rid of the beards and do what they wanted to on stage, and let people think what they wanted to think.

But they always came back to the divide. Louis still had his girlfriend, he was rarely ever publicly single, and Harry always wondered in the back of his mind what really went on when Louis was away.

Horrible as it was, he secretly wondered if Louis really did love any of those girls, and the pap photos and rumors of engagements didn’t help at all. He and Louis were still sneaking around to hook up, less than they used to but as often as they could, with insanely busy schedules and a whole other life to keep up appearances.

They’d meet in dark hallways, sneaking away in rooms for a few moments of peace, of letting go of all the pressures and pretending things were like they used to be. But something was missing, they didn’t have that time they’d had before.

Harry felt like he barely knew Louis most days, and they’d find themselves, sweaty and exhausted after a heated few minutes in an empty room, awkwardly brushing past each other, speaking in hushed tones and short sentences, barely looking at each other as they dressed and hurried away.

Finally it got to the point where Harry wanted to scream every time they had another one of their horribly open-ended meet-ups, where Louis left with an awkward and hasty, “Kay, well, see ya later,” while buttoning his jeans and slipping out the door of Harry’s room, leaving him standing there, lost, feeling utterly stupid and confused.

They never did anything again after that moment. If they spoke to each other, it was thinly laced with bitterness on both ends, and they hadn’t even had a proper fight in weeks, both of them just using barbed words to try to ease their own unsettled minds.

Harry didn’t have the mental energy to do emotional gymnastics, so he tried to fall back to sleep, the thought that Louis had taken care of him still interrupting his thoughts, bringing back old memories and frustration. He heard a creak in the hallway and the door opened slightly.

“Harry? You in here?” Liam’s voice came ringing through the room.

Harry rolled over unceremoniously, feeling an utter wreck, like he hadn’t showered in a week. Liam wouldn’t care, and Harry was relieved it was him, though he’d by lying if he told himself he didn’t wish it was Louis instead.

“Shit, man,” Liam huffed, “You’re a mess.”

Harry glared at him, no energy to put heat behind it.

“Helpful.” He muttered, burying his face back in the pillows.

“I brought some food, if you’re up for it.”

In typical fashion, Liam had come prepared, likely had some ibuprofen on hand, too, and if Harry sat up he’d likely get roped into a temperature check, probably a hospital visit, too.

He just wanted to sleep.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, and Liam laughed in return. “Fine, just sleep,” He shoved Harry’s shoulder lightly.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Liam was about to leave but Harry called his name almost before he could think about it.

“Liam…”

He turned over, feeling suddenly vulnerable. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted warmth, comfort, somebody.

But he wasn’t about to ask Liam for that.

“What?” Liam looked concerned, telling from the seriousness in Harry’s voice, the look on his face.

But Harry couldn’t say it, “Nothing. Sorry.”

He was frustrated, wishing it was all so much simpler. Liam must’ve read right through it, though, because he looked sympathetic, eyes softening, small sigh leaving his lips that hit Harry worse than it should.

“Get better, mate, I’ll check on you in a bit, kay?”

Harry nodded, overwhelmed once again by how many things were swimming through his head, he needed someone to talk to, but things weren’t like they used to be. Not with Louis and not even with his bandmates.

They all cared for each other, but they’d grown apart over the years, together constantly but each going through their own individual places in life, journeys that they couldn’t all do together like they’d done at the beginning.

He thought it’d fine, and sometimes it was, but in times like these he just wanted to be a kid again, naïve and completely willing to lay his entire heart on his sleeve, in return for being comforted, for someone to just wrap him up and hold him, tell him it would be alright.

Vulnerability was such a rare commodity these days in his life, he didn’t give it much and didn’t receive it from others very often. He remembered the nights he’d lay in bed at three A.M. with Louis, staring at the ceiling, reminiscing, talking about their plans, about their fears and hopes and insecurities. He craved that, felt so fucking lonely without it.

He had friends he could turn to that would probably listen, smile sympathetically, give him a good hug and a shoulder to cry on.

But he didn’t want that. He wanted Louis. And nothing else would do.

_Tongue-tied like we've never known  
_   
_Telling those stories we already told  
_   
_'Cause we don't say what we really mean..._

* * *

_Louis' POV:_

Louis was working out when Liam strolled in, purposefully as ever, like he owned the place.

“Tommo!” He shouted across the room.

Louis pulled his earbuds out, mild annoyed. He’d come to box in order to avoid people, to be by himself. And now here Liam was, that look on his face that said he was about give a life lesson.

“What’s up?” He asked, a little harsher than necessary.

He was already at the end of his rope and the conversation hadn’t even started.

“Harreh’s not doing well, I just saw him. Must be some kind of flu or something, he’s not usually out this long.”

Louis didn’t expect him to have come here to talk about Harry, and it kind of irritated him. The way they all talked, like Louis was joined at the hip with Harry and everything one of them did, the other was most definitely aware of.

“Well, I reckon he’ll get some rest and be good to go by next show, he’s a tough lad, he’ll be fine.”

Louis started unwrapping his hands, trying to distract himself from the fact that he felt unrested, hearing Liam confirm that Harry was in fact, rather sick, made Louis feel guilty.

He felt the automatic pull that he always did to go check on him, stay near him, smother him like a mother fucking hen.

It was ridiculous, honestly.

So he pretended it wasn’t there. It wasn’t warranted, no one, least of all Harry, was asking for it. So he needed to let it go.

“Come on, Louis, don’t act so fucking blasé. You should check on him, I’m sure he’d like that. He’s awake right now, actually.”

Liam’s tone sounded so smooth about it, like he was just suggesting a simple idea, rather than asking Louis to cross a crater with a line of floss.

“As a matter of fact, Liam, I don’t think he wants that at all.” Louis told him, leaving no room in his tone for discussion.

He could feel Liam’s glare on his back as he walked out of the room, feeling uncomfortably hasty, something akin to nervousness floating through him.

“Think about it, Louis, for god’s sake.” Liam snapped.

Of course Louis would think about it. It’s all he ever did these days, it seemed like. Thought about it, all of it. All of the utter shit that had happened to him and Harry, mixed with all of the moments of pure heaven between the two of them, the moments that reminded him that Harry wasn’t just his ‘friend’.

Harry had been his entire life as some point, and maybe, honestly, never stopped being that. And Louis hated the fact that it was true. But sure enough, he was a sucker for doing stupid things when it came to Harry, and he desperately wanted to see him, so he followed his bad instincts and walked to Harry’s room.

He felt more nervous because….fuck…Harry was awake this time.

“Hazza?”

Louis stepped carefully, almost hoping Harry had already fallen asleep by now and he could just slip back out painlessly.

“Lou,” Harry turned over swiftly and Louis felt his heart wrangle in his chest, all tied up with desperate longing and anger at himself because he already knew it was a bad idea.

He was a goner by the mere look on Harry’s face, hopeful, like Louis was all he wanted to see. And Louis couldn’t stand it, because Harry wasn’t supposed to look at him like that, like he was the sun and everything good in the world. He was supposed to hate him, it made everything easier.

They could go back to their stony silence and avoid each other like the plague. After all, it was just what they knew. But Harry was pushing himself up onto his elbow, the look on his face still far too vulnerable and open to be hateful. A far cry from the avoidance he’d been giving all month.

“Hey, figured I’d check on, make sure you’re still alive and all after last night.” Louis felt like he was rambling.

Harry didn’t say anything, just watched him in a way that made Louis feel exposed, like he should leave.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, softer, feeling himself warming just by being around Harry.

The calming effect that Harry had on him never seemed to fail to smooth out his rough edges. He wanted to melt into him, wrap his arms around him, spoon him like he used to before times were so shitty, before there was ever a doubt in his mind as to what he was going to do.

“Pretty shitty,” Harry said, and the soft but rough tone of his voice made Louis cave all over again.

Harry gave a weak half-smile that conveyed his own shyness, the same as Louis felt. But Louis felt like they were heading in a direction that could only lead to trouble and that he had to stop it or no one would.

"That's what Payno said, yea," Louis nodded, giving a short but nervous chuckle, shifting his stance, feeling somewhat uncomfortable standing in front of Harry, nothing to do with himself.

Harry quirked his brow slightly, and Louis could practically hear it in his thoughts: “T _hat's why you came?_ _Because of what Liam said?_ ”

"Well anyway, I'm gonna get some sleep, need anything, you let me know, kay?" He suggested, feeling so goddamn awkward he wanted to melt.

In a split second, Harry's face went from thoughtful to confused, almost hurt. 

"Wait, Louis," He started, and Louis whipped around on his heel.

"You can....if you want to....will you stay?" He finally got out.

Harry was bad enough at getting his point across on a good day, but half-asleep and sick, he was even slower about it.

Louis tried to find the proper answer. _Fuck yes._ was what first came to mind, but he couldn't say that.

His mind flashed with a million possible scenarios that this would end in, and he didn't think any one of them were good ideas. 

"Harold, I don't....It's not a good idea, everything's fucked as it is, yea? It'll just add to the shit show."

It came out far too blunt, too harsh for what Louis meant, and his stomach twisted with the look on Harry's face.

That wasn't what he meant to say, but it was already out now and there was no taking it back. "Harreh-" He tried, seeing the flash of emotions in Harry’s eyes.

"Don't, fuckin-" Harry ran a hand across his face, tired eyes looking even more exhausted now, thanks to Louis.

"Point made." He muttered, sliding back into the covers and turning over, facing the wall, back towards Louis. 

Louis sighed, biting his tongue from saying more shitty things, or making excuses. He wanted to fight, now, but he wasn't sure he had much to say that wouldn't make things worse.

He'd mucked it up multiple times now, but this was one of those moments where he wished he could go back and take the words away. They'd sleep on it, things would be better in the morning, and they'd make it.

Or at least he hoped they would.

_We're not who we used to be_

_We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me..._

* * *

_Harry's POV:_

Harry woke up feeling ever shittier the next morning, as though it were possible. He could hardly speak, voice sore and throat tight.

He forced himself out of bed to get some food, but was immediately accosted by Liam and Niall, thankfully not Louis, he wasn't sure he could take seeing him right now. 

"Hazza!" Liam looked an arm around Harry's shoulder, and Harry groaned in response.

Everything seemed foggy and faraway and Liam were too loud and chaotic for how he felt right now.

"How you feelin', Harreh?"

Niall was snacking on something noisy and Harry wanted to tell him to stop chewing so damn loud.

The thought alone made him realize he wasn't feeling well at all, it was practically something Louis would say.

"Not great, honestly," Harry told him, filling a glass of water that he sipped delicately, each drink irritating his throat but his mouth was so dry.

"Not great? You look like a train wreck, man," Liam noted, helpfully. 

Harry ignored his attempt at teasing, too busy dumping out the tap water to get filtered water instead, since even water tasted wrong to him this morning. It was like his body was moving through molasses in every movement.

"Alright, that's it, you're going to get looked at by Dr. Brette," Liam concluded.

Harry didn't argue. He liked Dr. Brette, she was calm and polite and usually didn't make him go to the hospital if it wasn't dire.

She was their personal physician, a private practitioner for wealthy and famous clientele that required discreet treatment, and could easily just show up and treat the boys wherever they were. 

"Go take a shower, Harry," Niall yelled from the other room, sprawled on the couch tossing a ball against the ceiling and catching it over and over. 

"Stop making noise and maybe I will," Harry snapped back, but he wasn't sure Niall could hear him, as his voice was shot and it sounded like he was mumbling. 

"He's right, you should," Liam laughed, looking up from texting someone.

"Mira wouldn't be thrilled with your state of...grease," He snickered, and the look Harry gave him in return was the closest he could get to a death glare.

Rather than retorting, Harry did end up taking a shower, and he felt about five percent better afterwards.

* * *

_Louis' POV:_

Louis was busy trying to ignore everyone bustling around him and the motherly laugh of Dr. Brette in the next room.

He was eating his lunch in the little kitchenet they shared, trying not to wonder how Harry was feeling. If the doctor had been called, it must've been worse than just a twenty-four hour flu. 

Curiosity finally got the better of Louis, and he joined the rest of the boys where they were crowding around Harry like they were watching a sports event. 

"Do ya need me to hold your hand?" Niall was joking, laughing at his own joke when Harry tossed him an annoyed look.

Dr. Brette's nurse smirked a little at Niall's dumb joke and Louis rolled his eyes.

He was off to the side, far enough away to not be apart of the spectacle, and Harry hadn't noticed he was even there.

Louis was grateful, he felt strange about the night before, and try as he might've to pretend that everything would be fine in the morning, it wasn't, and he didn't know how he would confront Harry about it.

Currently, he was watching and the nurse rolled up Harry's sleeve and wiped a spot on his shoulder with an alcohol swab to prep him for a shot.

Liam was busy discussing the benefits of the different antibiotics the doctor had brought with her, and Niall was trying out the stethoscope on himself while Harry sat in the middle of the drama, clad in a white t-shirt and black joggers, hair back into a bun on his head, wet like he'd just showered.

Louis couldn't help but notice how pale he looked, and tired. Still striking, somehow, still radiating that calm beauty that Louis had never truly understood, and even now couldn't figure out.

Even the nurse was charmed by him, smiling and laughing at whatever he was telling her, serious and quiet but quirking the tiniest smile when she lit up and laughed at it.

Louis was still amazed at the way Harry could charm a fly, or a painting on a wall, if he wanted to. And he hated the way, no matter how much he was at odds with Harry, he was still drawn to him, even now he craved to wrap him up in a blanket and make him a cup of tea, tell him to stop charming all the ladies and get some sleep so he could get well, and then hold him all night long until they both fell asleep.

Simple shit like that. 

But he didn't do any of those things.

_We're not who we used to be, we don't see what we used to see_   
_We're just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty, trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat_

_...I'm just trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat..._


End file.
